Nov 2017
Tell them how you grew up.
Tell them about the house that pretended to be a home. Tell them about the family in the portraits that seem to be the ghosts.
Tell them about the walls that did not block the screaming voices. All it did was make echoes louder than the beating of your heart.
Tell them about the shattered glass from last night's fight tearing your soles. You continued to walk the living room, leaving ****** footprints on the tiles, like you are meant to bleed.
Tell them about the pretty, untouched dolls above your closet. How your mother did not want you to play with them because they might get broken. She didn't know you were broken even before you can break anything.
Tell them about the nights where you lay on your back, staring at the holes of your ceiling and watching the starless skies. Somehow, it was comfort. Somehow, it became the canvas of your thoughts.
Tell them about the doors slammed shut it made you deaf for seconds. As time went by, it became so casual it did not make you flinch while you were sleeping.
Tell them about school.
Tell them how you would hurry to leave because you can't stand your father ruining your breakfast.
Tell them about the friends you've met.
Tell them about the only boy you fell in love with. Tell them about the parts of you taken away.
Tell them about the boys you kissed after him. How you kissed them and imagining his mouth. How their hands explore places you can't even reach.
Tell them about all the wrong places you've been, searching the right love.... searching pieces of you.
Tell them about the days where you can't feel your pulse. Tell them about the way you mistake loving yourself with hurting.
But also tell them about your art.
Tell them how you wake up in the middle of the night to paint your nightmare.
Tell them about the sketch your professor kept because she loved how you made destruction looked like birth of new stars.
Tell them about the love you gave away and the love that never came back.
Tell them about the pieces of you still missing and the pieces that are still there.
Tell them you've been lost but found the way home. Not the home where the ghosts reside nor the screams pierce the silences.
Home—
Somewhere you have forgotten.
Somewhere inside of you.
Tell them about the house that pretended to be a home. Tell them about the family in the portraits that seem to be the ghosts.
Tell them about the walls that did not block the screaming voices. All it did was make echoes louder than the beating of your heart.
Tell them about the shattered glass from last night's fight tearing your soles. You continued to walk the living room, leaving ****** footprints on the tiles, like you are meant to bleed.
Tell them about the pretty, untouched dolls above your closet. How your mother did not want you to play with them because they might get broken. She didn't know you were broken even before you can break anything.
Tell them about the nights where you lay on your back, staring at the holes of your ceiling and watching the starless skies. Somehow, it was comfort. Somehow, it became the canvas of your thoughts.
Tell them about the doors slammed shut it made you deaf for seconds. As time went by, it became so casual it did not make you flinch while you were sleeping.
Tell them about school.
Tell them how you would hurry to leave because you can't stand your father ruining your breakfast.
Tell them about the friends you've met.
Tell them about the only boy you fell in love with. Tell them about the parts of you taken away.
Tell them about the boys you kissed after him. How you kissed them and imagining his mouth. How their hands explore places you can't even reach.
Tell them about all the wrong places you've been, searching the right love.... searching pieces of you.
Tell them about the days where you can't feel your pulse. Tell them about the way you mistake loving yourself with hurting.
But also tell them about your art.
Tell them how you wake up in the middle of the night to paint your nightmare.
Tell them about the sketch your professor kept because she loved how you made destruction looked like birth of new stars.
Tell them about the love you gave away and the love that never came back.
Tell them about the pieces of you still missing and the pieces that are still there.
Tell them you've been lost but found the way home. Not the home where the ghosts reside nor the screams pierce the silences.
Home—
Somewhere you have forgotten.
Somewhere inside of you.
